


She's Just at That Age

by scioscribe



Category: Us (Movie 2019)
Genre: Creepy but gentle dubcon, Doppelcest, F/F, Possessive Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:14:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24251173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scioscribe/pseuds/scioscribe
Summary: “There’s a weakness under the basement. The floor was damp from all the flooding last year. I came u-up.”Addy swallowed. “Why?”“To see you,” the other Addy said. “It’s a party.”
Relationships: Adelaide Wilson/Red (Us Movie 2019)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41
Collections: The First Annual Femslash Kink Exchange 2020





	She's Just at That Age

**Author's Note:**

  * For [M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/gifts).



The graduation party was in her friend Alicia’s house. Alicia was white, with long strawberry blonde hair, and her parents had put pictures of her up everywhere: glamor shots done by professional photographers their yearbook could never have afforded. Everywhere Addy went in the house, Alicia’s smile followed her. Endless Alicias. She must have kept her hair the exact same length for years.

Addy had a bottle of green apple Bartles & Jaymes in her hand, the cold wet neck of it slippery against her fingers. She’d started the night drinking beer, just because it was in the first Solo cup that had been handed to her, but seeing the jewel-bright colors of the wine coolers had made something inside her come into sharp focus. Alicia had had her older sister buy them a bunch of different flavors, and she’d chilled them all and taken them out of the cases to arrange them in alternating colors: pink, yellow, green, red, blue-black. Like shiny ornaments on a Christmas tree.

Now she was on her third. She liked the green apple the best—just tart enough to do something to cut the sticky sweetness.

She wandered around the massive house, trailing her free hand against the wall. If just her fingertips were touching, then she wasn’t using it for balance, then she could still drive home and her parents wouldn’t have to know—

Someone touched her shoulder.

Addy’s hand tightened around the bottle, ready to swing it—her blood was pounding in her ears, percussive, the drumroll before some kind of apocalypse—but it was just Eric from her physics class.

“Hey,” he said, smiling at her. “You ran away.”

“What?”

“You ran away,” Eric repeated. His smile faltered as he looked her up and down, taking in her scoop-necked shirt, clinging, cranberry red. “And changed clothes.”

“No.” All of a sudden she wanted to be somewhere else. She didn’t even like Eric. “I’ve been wearing this the whole time.”

“I was reading the band name right here.” He drew a line in the air, level with her chest, telling her how he’d noticed, why he’d cared. “I like this one better, though. And what, you slipped away to change—”

“No.” She took a couple of steps back away from him and took a jerky, convulsive gulp of her wine cooler, only this time she wanted to spit it out immediately. Just under the sourness, she could taste blood, coppery and gamy. She didn’t want to hear about whatever conversation Eric thought they’d been having.

 _You ran away_.

She did then, anyway, winding up the stairs almost at a run, and she ducked into the first room she could find. It was Alicia’s mother’s crafting room, where a bunch of metallic beads glittered in a bunch of cloudy plastic containers.

Alicia was sitting on the crafting table, her legs splayed into a V. She was smoking a joint, and she gave Addy a sleepy smile as Addy came in.

“Hey, tiny dancer. Want some?”

“Thanks.” She took a few puffs off it, dragging in the smoke as best she could without having had much practice. Alicia didn’t laugh at her when she coughed some of it back out. It was probably just in her head—all of it was probably just in her head—but the pot stabilized her, and it made the wine cooler taste good again. Everything Eric had been saying moved way into the distance. She passed the joint back to Alicia. “How come you’re not downstairs? It’s your party.”

Alicia shrugged. “It's a bullshit graduation party. Somebody had to host, and I'm the only one whose parents are out of town. Fuck it. Besides, you think I want all those assholes down there to know where my mom keeps the good weed?” She leaned back against the window. It was pitch-black outside, but the craft room was lit up with warm yellow lights, and it made the window into a glossy mirror. The back of Alicia’s head seemed to be resting against its own reflection. “I am, however, ashamed to know you moved back to wine coolers after I made you an actual whiskey Coke. What’s the point of letting me pick your poison if you turn around and drink fucking Bartles & Jaymes anyway?”

Addy had to focus on Alicia’s split ends, the differences even in her conditioned-within-an-inch-of-its-life hair. Each strand its own thing, not a copy.

She’d never had a whiskey Coke in her life. The one time she’d tried whiskey, she’d thought it had tasted heavy and disgustingly medicinal. She’d never asked Alicia to make her a drink.

Addy said carefully, “I think I might have to head out early. But it’s a great party.”

Alicia waved her hand magnanimously. “Go forth. Have a good life.”

Addy left the craft room, but Eric was still positioned near the foot of the stairs, ready to tell her again all about the conversation they’d had that she couldn’t remember and the shirt she’d been wearing that she might not have ever owned. She couldn’t go down there, not right now. Her throat ached, tight like a mousetrap had snapped down on it.

She had to sober up. If she sobered up, all this would make sense. She’d get out of the feeling that she was trapped in one of her old nightmares.

She fumbled down the hall until she found the bathroom. There were two more downstairs, so this one was still free. It smelled like lavender and clean towels, and it felt perfect. She’d sit there and stare at the cool slate-tiled floor and not look at the mirror and everything would go back to normal. She’d splash some cold water on her face and drive home. She locked the door behind her and sat down on the closed toilet.

And then she—the other one—sat up inside the bathtub.

She had Addy’s hair, only not braided back quite as neatly. She had Addy’s eyes.

She didn’t have her smile. This Addy’s smile was her own. There was something electric about it, like it was a violet-white spark.

She was wearing a faded black Pavement T-shirt, faded and worn thin and stretched tight across her tits.

“I knew you’d come here,” she said. Her voice was guttural and raspy, like her throat was a clogged drain. That electric arc smile stayed in place.

Addy just stayed frozen, like maybe the other one wouldn’t see her if she didn’t move.

“There’s a weakness under the basement. The floor was damp from all the flooding last year. I came u-up.”

Addy swallowed. Green apple and blood. “Why?”

“To see you,” the other Addy said. “It’s a party.”

She stepped out of the tub, coming closer to Addy. She was wearing plastic sandals, jellies years out of date, and they slapped against the floor.

When she was standing up, it was even harder to ignore how they mirrored each other, how she had the exact length of Addy’s limbs, the exact shape of her mouth. They were the same in every way that mattered. This was her.

As if to rebuke that, the other Addy said, in her creaky voice, “My name is Red. Like blood. Like a candy a-apple.” She was so close now that Addy could feel the heat coming off her body. She smelled like chalk dust and, when she exhaled warmly against Addy’s cheek, whiskey. She caressed Addy’s arm. “Like your s-shirt.”

She wasn’t really stuttering. Just choking on words, like they were made of sharp angles that hurt her throat.

“You let Alicia make you a drink,” Addy said. “Eric talked to you.”

“Yes.” Red’s smile widened. “But I didn’t talk back. I know what I sound like.”

She was dreaming, she thought as Red’s hand moved higher, following the curve of her shoulder, sliding against her neck. This was like dreams she’d had before. She usually woke up from them with her sheets damp from sweat and her underwear soaked through, so much so that sometimes she’d just thrown them away, hiding them under something else. The muscles in her legs had ached, almost like she’d been dancing.

“You see, you’re the only choice I can make,” Red said. “A shadow only touches other shadows, wherever the girl goes, but the girl—the shadow grabs her by the heel.” She stroked her thumb over Addy’s lower lip. Her voice seemed to go thicker and harsher than ever, rough with wanting. “I want to touch what’s mine. What I want. We’re destined for each other.”

Finally, Red kissed her. Addy had known she was going to do it. That was how the dreams always went.

Red’s lips were chapped and rough, but she sucked at Addy’s almost tenderly. “S-sweet,” she said against Addy’s mouth. “I haven’t tasted sugar in years.”

She moved against Addy as she kissed her—little surges and tugs and pushes that Addy should have been able to anticipate but couldn’t. This was why she’d stopped dancing. She’d felt her reflection getting better at it than she was, each movement loosening the hold between shadow and heel. _Don’t think about it, don’t think about it,_ she chanted as she kissed the whiskey-taste off Red’s lips. The constant friction of Red’s body against hers was making her nipples stiffen. This couldn’t be what she wanted. What you dreamed wasn’t always what you wanted. She wanted to run, she wanted to get away, wanted to shove Red back down in the dark—

But when Red stroked her breast through her shirt, Addy moaned.

Red touched her the way she touched herself, she realized, after her shirt and bra were both on the floor. She circled her fingers lightly around her nipple, the fingernail a gentle graze, and then she pinched and tugged until it felt like her whole body was throbbing.

“I know what you like,” Red said. “What we do. I lie awake in the night and I know where your hands go.”

She unbuttoned Addy’s jeans and pushed them down along with her soaked-through underwear. They tangled up against her boots, too tight to fit around them. Red didn’t care—she just spread Addy’s legs out as far as they’d go. She slipped her thumb between the lips of Addy’s cunt and then put it in her mouth.

Her smile went away. “You don’t taste like me.”

Addy didn’t know what to say.

“Chemicals,” Red said. “There are different chemicals.” She undid her own jeans just enough to slip her hand inside; her fingers came out shiny. Addy’s lips parted—she thought Red would make her taste it—but Red just painted Addy’s cunt with her fingers instead, covering up the smell of Addy’s body with her own. She did it several times, patiently, until it felt like another grazing contact against Addy’s clit would kill her. Red leaned in then and licked at her. “There,” she said, sitting back on her heels. “Now we’re the same. It isn’t so u-unfair. I can make you more like me… like you are the s-shadow.” Her eyes were burning. What was behind them was something Addy didn’t want to ever understand. “Say that you are the shadow.”

Addy’s legs were trembling. _Taste the green apple. You’re drunk. This is a dream._ But even with that, she couldn’t say it. “No.”

Red dug her fingers into Addy’s thighs. “Say you are my shadow.”

“I won’t.”

She wasn’t the shadow. She wasn’t. She had a life. She had classes, she had friends, she had—she had the wine cooler that she’d put down on the counter. She could grab it, smash it against Red’s head. She could run.

But Red said, “Then I’m the shadow,” and she sounded almost but not quite resigned. Not when Addy looked into her eyes. “But shadows can get very long—at the right time—they can stretch out taller and wider than the person. Think about t-that.”

She wasn’t going to think about any of this ever again.

Red kissed her between her legs, sliding her tongue not only against Addy’s clit but in and out of her body. Addy wound up holding onto her head, hoping she was tugging Red’s hair until it hurt. She hated the way she could feel herself getting closer to orgasm, could feel her body tightening up, a hot weight settling down in her cunt. She should grab the bottle now, while Red was distracted.

She didn’t. She came instead, biting her lip hard to catch any sound. Blood sprang up. _Red_. Red’s name in her mouth.

Red looked up at her from the floor. “I wanted to have you. But now you’ve been happy again. But—I made you happy.”

“You decided,” Addy said. She hated how her voice sounded—almost as rusty as Red’s. She had to give her something, and this wasn’t the same, was it, as saying she was the shadow? This wasn’t so bad. “You made it happen.”

Red stood up and kissed the blood off her mouth. “You taste just like rabbit,” she said. “Like rabbit and like me, n-now.” She grabbed Addy’s wrist and held her still while she shoved her jeans down more. Red’s scratchy pubic hair was still bristly and curly and unshaven, untrimmed. She thrust Addy’s hand towards it. “Now. Like we touch ourselves. It’s not so different. J-just another angle. I want to be happy. I want—my choice. To have you inside me like a s-secret. Mine.”

Addy worked her fingers against Red’s cunt. The angle being different changed everything—she didn’t know what she was doing. But Red watched her, rapt, with big round eyes, like Addy doing this for her was the best thing she’d ever seen. She came quickly, even with the awkwardness, even with Addy’s longer fingernails.

Red made Addy stand still while she painted the inside of her cunt one more time, rubbing her own juices into Addy’s skin until she could press her nose against the cleft of Addy’s cunt and be satisfied with what she found there.

Addy’s voice shook as she said, “After the party, I go home. Everything goes back to how it was.” She nodded, and she felt herself almost tugging at something between them, at the shared ache she knew they both had now, the soreness of their bodies. She nodded and saw Red nod along with her, perfectly synchronized. She was in control, even if it didn’t feel like it. She wasn’t the shadow. “People are out of control at parties, that's all.”

 _At parties and on_ _boardwalks_ , she thought without knowing why. _Places to avoid._

“And except for that,” Red said, that smile coming back, brighter than ever now that her mouth was still shining from Addy’s cunt, “you're the one in control.” A laugh seemed to be burbling in her choked-up throat, like bubbles were trying to force their way to the surface.

*

On her way out of Alicia’s party, Addy stole three more wine coolers. She drove home, inching along at twenty-five miles an hour, afraid to get pulled over, afraid to make a mistake. She’d done enough of that for one night. She snuck back into her bedroom and, sitting on the edge of her bed, downed the drinks one after another after another, until her head felt as round and glossy and sweet as hard candy. She wouldn’t have to remember a thing.


End file.
